Chances
by musicnotes093
Summary: AU. All it takes is one alteration, really, like making the mistake his brother was supposed to make. Then it leads to her being on his mind, to her holding his hand, until they end up, right here, like this.


**Title:** _"__Chances"_

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Alternate Universe, Romance

**Character(s):** Chase and Janelle, with Leo popping here and there

**Pairing(s):** Chase/Janelle

**Summary:** AU. All it takes is one alteration, really, like making the mistake his brother was supposed to make. Then it leads to her being on his mind, to her holding his hand, until they end up, right here, like this.

**Notes:** Another thing I'd like to try out. I've had this idea since the beginning of Season Two, pairing Chase and Janelle. I won't specify how I came across it, but being a writer, I couldn't help the inevitable 'What if…?' when I saw it.

Anyways, this is going to be pretty short-ish, and each chapter will walk us through each season until we reach the third. The story relies on the information Leo gave in _Prank You Very Much_ regarding the first time he met Janelle. I rewound to that moment in time and gave it a little twist. ;) Also, this will feature season one Janelle throughout (because that version of her is very kind and supportive) and would build up on that.

I know it sounds pretty out there, but I hope you'd try it! Please enjoy!

* * *

He's running. It's almost ironic, how after fifteen years of being relatively idle (because, really, trainings for missions will in no way count as inactivity), he's now been finding himself on his feet and sprinting for his life regularly. The football team is on their trail again, and for the third time that week he and his new stepbrother, Leo, are dashing through the halls of Mission Creek High as if they're running a marathon.

Leo is slightly ahead of him. When he stops, he stops, too. "Did we lose them?" Leo asks, slightly panting.

He opens his mouth to answer, but then they hear Trent's bellows echoing somewhere near.

They exchange frightened looks.

Leo almost charges for the door in front of them, but he beats him to it and ran in to find a stall where he can hide. He's been left behind before; and it's not going to happen again.

However, after the door closes behind him, he stops short when he notices her standing in front of a mirror.

Apparently, she notices him, too – but in an entirely not good way. "What are you doing here?" she asks, obviously offended.

"Uh…" He looks behind after his billion dollar reservoir of knowledge fails him. He wants to tell her that he's hiding, especially after he hears Trent's troops hooting and hollering as they pass by (_I thought Leo was behind me?_) , but instead he says, "This is the boys' bathroom."

She gazes at him dryly and unhappily. "No, it's not. This is the girls' bathroom." Then, she glances around.

He glances around, too.

Her brows hitch when she sees she's made her point.

He reddens. "Okay," he says, and then leaves.

Later on in the day, he wonders why he even stayed in that bathroom that long. The last time that happened, he flew out of there in a matter of nanoseconds. He tries to convince himself that it was because he was still afraid of Trent and his swarm of jocks.

He guesses that explains why his feet dragged in going out.

But it doesn't explain why, afterwards, he looked behind for another glance and why, when he did catch a glimpse of her, he felt like his heart dropped, like a piece of marshmallow plopping into a mug of hot water.

. .

"What's her name?" he asks about a week later.

Leo looks up from his homework. "What's who's name?"

He shrugs. "You know."

Leo frowns a little bit, and then, "Oh. The girl at the bathroom you've been telling me about?" He scribbles down the solution to problem number twenty-seven on his homework sheet. "I don't know. I didn't see her. You used me as shark bait, remember?"

He rolls his eyes.

"What does she look like?" Leo asks anyways.

He doesn't have to think long about it; her features are still carved in his memory. "Um, about your height, long, curly hair—Well, it's not very long. It's up to her shoulders. She has pretty eyes."

Leo searches his memory for a match.

"She's about your age, too," he adds. He hopes it didn't come across as too desperate.

"Oh. You're probably talking about Janelle Grayson," Leo nods. "Yeah, I met her yesterday. She's nice. She's pretty smart, too."

"You met her yesterday?"

"Uh-huh. Mr. Saulnier needed some freshmen to help out with preparing lunch for the sophomores who would be participating in the CAHSEE boot camp this weekend. We had a meeting, and she was there."

He ponders over it. "Does he need more volunteers?"

Leo looks up suspiciously. "Yeah…"

"When's the next meeting?"

"Chase. You're a sophomore. You can't volunteer."

He scratches the back of his head. "Well…"

"Uh oh."

"What."

Leo grins slowly. "You like this girl, don't you?"

"No." _Yes._ "Maybe." He looks back down on his geometry homework, all the while willing himself to gain the bionic ability to prevent his cheeks from flushing.

"You need a wingman?"

"A wing?"

"No. I said a wingman. Wing, man, one word."

"What's a wingman?"

"I'll show you tomorrow," Leo says. He wags the eraser on his hand towards his brother. "It'll cost you, though."

"Will a wingman help me, you know, introduce me to Janelle?"

Leo smirks. "He's gonna do more than that."

He broods over it. "I already spent my allowance this week," he confesses glumly. "Can I pay next week?"

Leo chuckles. "Dude. I don't need your money," he says. He looks up at his older brother. "I just need you to promise me that if I become your wingman, someday you'd be my wingman, too. Deal?"

He's confused (all of these outside world lingos are still puzzling to him), but he sees from his little brother's face that he's sincere, so he shakes the hand he holds out. "Deal."

. .

Leo acts on his word the following day after school. "Hey, Janelle."

"Oh, hey, Leo! You're just the person I wanted to see," she says cheerfully. When she catches a glimpse of him, standing behind 'the person she wanted to see,' her bright attitude dims down a bit.

He feels like he'd been whacked with two AP biology textbooks on the chest.

She eyes him unsurely before refocusing her attention on Leo. She draws out a yellow sheet of paper from a binder inside her locker then hands it to the boy in front of him. "Tara has the fruit punch and the chips covered, but Pia still needs help with making the cookies. Do you mind baking the other half?"

"How many is that exactly? Thirty-six?"

"Yeah, thirty-six sounds about right. Mr. Saulnier has the packages of cookie mixes in his classroom." She gestures to the hall behind her with her thumb. "We can go get them, if you want."

"Oh, no, no. I'll go get them," Leo says. He crosses his arms as he pretends to reconsider something. "But, you know, my baking game's not really that strong. I'm more of a sandwich kind of guy."

She slightly deflates. "Oh."

"Oh, hey, don't worry! I'm sure I can still take care of it. In fact—" Leo turns towards him at that moment with an almost nefarious smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I have your guy right here. This guy can bake. Just, mm, good."

She eyes him again, but awkwardly and hesitantly this time.

He tries to smile confidently, but it doesn't come out quite that way.

Leo looks back and forth between them, quite pleased with the progress they are making. "This is my older brother, by the way. Chase," he says, nodding factually. "You've probably seen him around the halls?"

"Yep. I've seen him somewhere else, too," she mutters.

"Really? Where?"

She looks down in embarrassment.

He almost hits him with the small terrarium he had in his hands.

"O-kay. Since you guys know each other anyways, I guess I can go get the mixes from Mr. Saulnier." He backs out despite their incoherent protests, and then jogs away.

No one speaks first.

Then, "Please don't tell me he's doing some kind of matchmaking here."

He stares at her, because he's not quite sure how else to respond.

"Like, he's not trying to get us together, is he?" she expounds.

He continues to stare, his brows wrinkling a little as he thinks of what to say.

She misconstrues it as confusion, and the thought of her having acted and spoken presumptuously immediately mortifies her. She blushes. She slaps her palm on her face in shame. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she says. "I – Please forget what I just said. I'm being so dumb about this."

It almost hurts to hear her berate herself, so he says, "No, no. It's okay. It… Leo can be a goofball sometimes. No one really knows what he's up to."

She smiles at him gratefully for the reprieve.

The little marshmallow inside his ribcage bobs dangerously, and it melts just a little bit.

"Anyways, I don't think we've properly met. My name's Janelle, Janelle Grayson." She holds out her hand.

"I'm Chase Davenport." He looks down on the terrarium on his hands to see if he can successfully free a hand to return her gesture, but he's met with more problems than solutions.

She chuckles at his attempts. So, to help him out, she takes an edge of the terrarium instead and shakes that up and down. She looks up at him. "Sorry for talking crazy," she says.

"Sorry for walking into the bathroom," he says.

She shrugs. "It happens more often than you think."

They talk afterwards about some other things, and their conversation lasts for several blissful moments.

All the while, Leo listens by the staircase, eating a granola bar as he lightly leans on his backpack that has been filled with the packages of cookie mixes since lunchtime.

. .

He steps into his capsule Friday night, extremely exhausted and dusted everywhere with flour and sugar. After nearly three hours of labor, he was able to produce five dozen chocolate chip overload cookies. She only asked for three, he knows, but his family had been eating off the ones that he left on the racks to cool that he had to do more.

He sighs as he closes the door.

Liking a girl is so hard.

. .

A big opportunity comes his way four months later. The whole process of asking a girl to the school dance is more intimidating in real life than it is on TV, he notes. The thought of getting rejected is bad enough. The thought of getting rejected by a girl you really, really like, well – it's worse.

He tells himself that he shouldn't be so nervous about it. True to what his stepbrother said, helping out at that CAHSEE boot camp weeks ago earned him a good guy check in her book. It also seems to help that he's always willing to participate in afterschool activities that she's interested in.

After all that time they had spent together, they're practically friends, and friends shouldn't find it awkward to ask each other if they can hang out, right?

But he guesses that's the problem. The moment he asks her out, it will become clear that he doesn't want to be just friends, and he worries about her response. They have a pretty good relationship now: she texts him from time to time, usually to update him with school events that need volunteers, though there are instances she just does so to say hi; they talk occasionally at the end of the day; she waves at him when they pass each other at the hall. Does he really need to risk that good and normal and comfortable relationship for a dance?

He ponders heavily about this for the next few days.

By Tuesday, he decides that, if his heart is to be broken for the first time, at least it will be because of her.

He comes up to her during lunch, after taking a big breath to boost his already wilting confidence. "Hey, Janelle?" he begins, his hands desperately clutching the one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder.

She swivels back to face him, and he almost faints when he smells her vanilla verbena shampoo. The bright smile she flashes him doesn't help. "Chase! Hi!" she greets. "I didn't know you have B lunch."

"I don't. Not usually. Ms. Keating had to leave for an emergency, so she let us go to lunch early," he says nervously.

"Okay," she says.

He clears his throat after a moment of silence. "Um, listen. Are you in a hurry to go somewhere?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "No. Why? What's up?"

His insides freeze for a second. He swallows thickly to break the anxiety. Then, he continues. "I…I hope you don't find this weird. But, uh, I was wondering… About this Friday? The dance? I was wondering if I could, you know—" He stalls, but then he stops. When it becomes apparent that his tongue has glued itself onto the roof of his mouth and will forever refuse to come down unless he stops with this asking her out thing, he scratches his head.

"If you could come…with me?"

The question seems to reset everything within him. She seems unbothered by the idea. She even sounded relieved. "Yes," he says unsurely, because of the one hundred thirty-five scenarios that played in his head, this was not one of them.

She breathes out in relief and chuckles. "Oh my gosh, you have no idea how great that makes me feel," she says.

"It-it does?"

"Yes!" She laughs again. "I've been thinking about asking you about the dance! Ugh, I'm so glad you asked me."

His mind spins further out into confusion, because in no way is the conversation really heading to this direction. "So… You – and me – will be at the dance? Together?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Of course I'm okay with it, Chase. Why wouldn't I be?" she tells him.

_Huh._ "Okay… So how do we go about this?" he asks, because past the asking out point he doesn't know what usually comes next.

"My dad's chaperoning, so I'm riding with him. I'll be here somewhat early, but you don't have to be here the same time. Just text me when you arrive, and then we can meet at your locker. Sound good?"

"Yeah." He nods. "Okay, good."

Too good.

As Mr. Davenport had told him, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

. .

And it is.

As it turns out, the preposition used in what is said makes a huge difference. Your crush asking you _about_ the dance is not the same as her asking you _to_ the dance. Whereas asking you _to_ the dance means that your crush is hoping to have you as her company, being asked _about_ the dance means that your crush is just asking for your opinion on something.

Like whether you can help out with parking the night of the dance.

As he walks back into the school after he's cleared of his duty, he realizes that tonight is probably the worst night of his life. Tasha bought him this nice suit and tie, and Mr. Davenport even let him borrow his expensive Italian dress shoes. And for what? Two long rounds around the parking lot and the school?

He huffs as he passes by the gymnasium where many students are currently jumping along to a rather loud pop song and heads straight to the band room where he was told to report. He knows that after he tells Mr. Fusco that his replacement has come, he will be allowed to enjoy the dance with the other students, but he doesn't think he'll do that. Not anymore. He's too tired, and he's going home.

When he steps in to the only lit classroom down the hallway, he finds her sitting at the teacher's desk, chewing on a mouthful of food while her long, rose pink Grecian dress cascaded elegantly on either side of her.

It doesn't take her long to pick up on his presence in the room. She looks up, and with widened eyes chews her food faster to be able to talk to him. "'m, so sorry" – she takes a hearty gulp of her fruit punch to wash down the last of what she was eating – "I was just finishing up my dinner. I've been starving!" She stands up then walks around to him. "This dance is insane!"

He smiles, but only half-heartedly. Although he knows she didn't mean to and may not even have a clue of what she had done, he's still hurt.

She senses his aloofness, so she continues with something simple. "How did everything go?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Fine, I guess," he says. "Just cars. No hooligans. Thankfully."

She chuckles, and his heart does that weird bobbing thing again. She expels a breath. "Well, same for me, but everything probably went well because Principal Perry was really watching everybody like a hawk," she says. "I think people were even scared to come to the refreshment table because of her. It made for a boring night for us freshmen helping out with the food."

He frowns at something that she said. "Helping out with the food?" he repeats. "You… You weren't here to go to the dance?"

"Well, I was, kind of, but the guy who I wanted to go with had something to do. I mean, it's okay. I had to do a lot of things tonight as a volunteer anyways."

"So you didn't go to the dance."

She smiles bashfully. "No, I guess not."

He considers all of this, and in the end his hurt turns to something neutral, maybe even slight embarrassment for the way he thought.

She sighs just as the music outside change into a slow ballad. "I was really looking forward to this. I was hoping that this would be my first dance as a high school student. Seems like I have to wait 'til next year again," she says sadly.

He watches the way her eyes cast down to the floor in disappointment, and for some unknown reason a bolt of courage suddenly strikes within the walls of his being. "You don't really have to," he says.

Her brows wrinkle and her head tilts to an angle.

He steps closer to her. "Would you like to dance with me?" he asks. "Is that acceptable?"

She blushes furiously as a shy grin comes up her lips. "Well…"

He sees her hesitation, perhaps thinking that he might find it awkward if she does say yes, so he holds out his hand then smiles encouragingly at her despite the tempest of nervousness raging in his chest.

She looks at his hand then him then his hand again.

Then, suddenly, he finds her right hand in his and her left hand on his shoulder.

It seems to have taken forever before he can move, but when he does it starts smoothly. After the fiasco at his first dance months ago, he decided two weeks prior to hash out his skills the way normal people do it. He won't tell another soul about this, but his parents (they're really technically his parents now) were the ones who showed him how to do one of the most widely recognized – and appreciated – forms of dancing: a slow dance. They showed him how it was done first, before his stepmother had him demonstrate it with her as his partner.

He's confident that he's got it down pat, but then having the girl that he likes stand that close to him makes him twitchy in a way that he's afraid he'll lose his rhythm.

Or, at least he thinks he's twitchy.

"You're a pretty good dancer, Chase," she notes enthusiastically, though she's still evidently feeling slightly self-conscious.

"Thanks," he says.

She nods. She laughs a minute later. "Well, I guess that settles it then," she says. She grins up at him. "Chase Davenport, first high school dance partner."

He smiles back, but only a little. "Janelle?"

"Yeah?"

"I… You know, when I asked you about the dance that day?"

"Yeah?"

He thinks about changing the topic because he doesn't want to ruin this moment. But, his mouth disobeys him, and he supposes it was goaded earlier on by the evil little marshmallow inside his ribcage. "I wasn't – I wasn't asking if I could volunteer," he says.

She looks up at him with widened eyes, clearly horrified. "Oh, no," she says. "Oh, man. You were just asking if I was going, weren't you? Oh, Chase – I'm so sorry! I ruined your night, didn't I? You probably even had a date and all and – oh my gosh…"

He laughs, because he finds her very cute despite being frazzled like this. "No, no. I—I guess I _was_ asking you about the dance," he assures her.

_Prepositions, Chase. Prepositions._

His grin shrinks a tad bit. "Well, I mean, I was trying to ask you _to_ the dance."

Her eyes lift up at him quickly, as if she's unsure of what he just said.

He takes a micro deep breath. "I wanted to ask if you would go with me," he clarifies.

Her feet stop, so his feet do, too. She stares at him blankly. Her silence heightens his nervousness, but he takes comfort in the fact that she hasn't removed her hand from his. So, he continues, "I know this is probably weird, but I like you."

She stares at him a little while longer. Then, "Why would it be weird?" she asks.

"Well, we just didn't, you know… We met at the girl's bathroom. It's not – It's a little unusual."

She smiles. "Life's full of many little unusual things, Chase," she says.

It's his turn to look at her incredulously. "So, you don't think it's creepy that the sophomore who busted into the bathroom likes you?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Not at all," she says.

He pores over everything that just happened. He admits a few seconds later, "Okay, this is the first time I'll say this, but I'm being a little slow. What you said. Does that mean…?"

Her eyes narrow as she thinks about it. She nods in agreement. "Yeah. I guess so."

"And we're…?"

Her smile widens.

He nods. Okay. Okay. He thinks they're on the same page. He looks back at her. "Dance?" he asks.

"Sure," she says, taking her left hand off his shoulder but leaving the fingers of her right hand intertwined with his.

He smiles, though still nervously, and then leads the way to the gymnasium.

As his attention is caught by where they are heading and the feel of her grasp, he fails to notice the smile that comes up her face as she gazes at him.

After all, he wasn't the only one hoping that they would end up being together somewhere in the depths of the dance floor tonight.

. .

Some more weeks pass (or is it months? He can't even tell anymore because of her), and he finds himself being extremely happy with things. Their relationship is not explicitly stated, and all's going too well that he's afraid to ask, but he's okay with it. There's an instance some time ago that involved him asking Mr. Davenport if he could use the helicopter to take her sightseeing around the city, and it turned out well. She leaned her head on his shoulder during the ride, and she told him she had so much fun.

There's also that basketball tournament that he signed up for just to impress her. That turned out half and half. She was not very happy that he and his stepbrother cheated just to win, but when he set matters right she told him that she was proud of him.

There were some minor bumps on the road, like her not completely agreeing with him regarding that new kid Marcus, but those didn't faze them.

Apparently not, because one day, while they were studying together, she asked, "Am I your girlfriend?"

He stared at her in shock. "Yes?" he answered.

She nodded and then turned her attention back to her phone. "Okay. Just checking."

He checked her status later on that night.

_In a relationship with Chase Davenport._

He yelled 'Yes!' so loudly that he scared Adam and Bree. Mr. Davenport even rushed downstairs to see what happened.

He can't remember now if he even talked coherently while he was explaining to them why he reacted the way he did. All he knows is that he was happy.

He was, and still is, happy.

* * *

_to be continued._


End file.
